


Part of Something Larger

by Vrunka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Absolutely no plot, Blow Jobs, Furry, M/M, PWP, Prince Hanzo, werewolf mccree - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 09:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Title is not an innuendo. This is a snippet of puuuuuure smut from a longer work that I'm never going to finish. Full on furry werewolf lovin' ahead; you've been warned.





	Part of Something Larger

"You are saying that I cannot come in?"

McCree leans his head on his hand, grips the frame of the door, digs his nails against the wood. "It's just...not a good time."

Hanzo studies him. Reaches out a hand. McCree is too tired, wrung out from the suppressants, to escape the touch. Hanzo's fingers against his sweaty brow, running over his eyebrows, into the hair by his ears.

"Let me in," Hanzo says.

McCree shouldn't.

"Let me see what you are," Hanzo says.

McCree shouldn't.

He steps back, lets Hanzo slip past him into the darkness of his room. The curtains are drawn. Hanzo waits for McCree to close the door before he tugs them open.

Moonlight.

McCree can feel the magnetic pull of it against his skin. Even through the suppressant fog. He groans, the noise escapes him unbidden. The light of the moon is like the touch of a lover, comforting, begging.

"You shouldn't contain it," Hanzo says, sitting himself on the edge of McCree's bed. His skin against the silken sheets. McCree tears his gaze away from the sight. "Let me see it."

"I can't."

"The suppressants don't do much against direct moonlight. I have done my research. Now let me see you, Jesse McCree."

Hanzo stands as he says it. Two steps brings him even with McCree. His head level with McCree's shoulder. The sleeping robe Hanzo is wearing is loose. McCree can see his chest, the muscled expanse of his pectorals.

He tries not to remember what Hanzo's skin had tasted like under his tongue. Hanzo lifts his arm to pet his fingers into McCree's facial hair and the material of the robe slips off his shoulder completely.

The dragon tattoo seems to pulse and glow in the moonlight.

"Please," Hanzo says, gently. "I want to know."

McCree sinks to the floor, shaking. The robe he had donned slides off his shoulders. Pools across his legs where he is kneeling on the floor.

The moon takes most of the sting of the shift. The cracking, tearing, jarring change. His bones stretching, shifting into new forms beneath his skin.

Hanzo watches him, seated on the bed again.

Hands crossed over his lap. Cold and detached.

Haughty.

Almost deific.

McCree rolls onto all fours, weight on his elbows as the change of the moon rakes through him. Head bowed between his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut. Hair growth so rapid he can feel it, fur sprouting across the expanse of his back.

When he looks back up, Hanzo looks a shade more impressed. It's in his eyebrows, the curve of his mouth. Still a frown but less severe.

"And you keep this caged?" Hanzo asks. He tilts his head. "A wolf, a beast. And you lock it up." He licks his lips, McCree feels himself snarl at the motion. "How long since the wolf has tasted air, McCree? When was the last time you let him loose?"

A long time ago.

Before McCree changed his ways and started hunting things like him.

His nose wrinkles, lips pulling back from his fangs.

Hanzo's smell, spicy and bitter, is a million times more potent like this. With McCree embracing the wolf. Hanzo gestures and the scent hits McCree like a wave. Washing over him.

"Come here."

The suppressants have McCree on a sort of lockdown still, he can feel that much. There's no pressing bloodlust with the fog still wrapped around his brain, shutting off his baser instincts. McCree stands.

Towers over Hanzo. Taller in this form, just slightly broader.

Hanzo stands up as well. Reaches his hand out again, slowly, like he had in the hall. He touches McCree's snout, draws his fingers along the lupine line of it.

They have been dancing around this for almost a month now.

But McCree never wanted it like this.

Hanzo stands on his toes, his delicate, human mouth against the canine front of McCree's, pressing just to the right of his nose.

"You do not need to look so skittish, McCree. Can you speak like this?"

The words form different. He has to think about the way to make them.

"Sorta," he says and Hanzo tenses against him.

"Your voice is different."

It's deeper. Less than human. A rumbling, rolling growl.

"Are you afraid to hurt me?" Hanzo asks, touching McCree's claws. The deadly cut of them. McCree's metal finger, human-shaped and blunt brace against Hanzo's hip. 

"Of course."

"The suppressants have your nature tethered though, do they not?"

"That's not a fair question." It isn't. Not when Hanzo is pushing up against him, leaning against McCree's solid bulk.

Not when Hanzo smells like spices and arousal. Deep, guttural scents.

There is a difference between tethered and teasing.

Hanzo is testing the edge of that difference right this moment.

He drags his fingers against McCree's chest, really digs them into the fur. Watching his own hand against the tawny brown hair like it's fascinating. Hanzo breathes against McCree's snout. Presses his hand lower. The two of them, watching its descent.

"Are you going to stop me?" Hanzo asks.

"Do y'know what you're gettin' into?" McCree's eyes flutter shut. He can't look at Hanzo, not with Hanzo's hand edging so close to his cock.

They've barely started and he's already aching for it.

Hanzo smiles, McCree can feel the motion of his lips.

"Do you?" Hanzo asks, barely a whisper.

McCree doesn't know. He has no idea. He shakes his head, shaggy fur and all. He's trembling in his skin when Hanzo finally takes him in hand. Snaps and hisses between his teeth, tongue lolling.

"Hanzo..." He says. It's a warning. It's a plead. It's nothing.

It's everything.

"Hush, beast," Hanzo says. Hand working the length of McCree's cock. Fragile human fingers against the delicate skin. Less fur there, deep, red flesh. "Let me see you fully."

McCree snarls. Reservation snapping. The wolf has been confined too long. Hanzo is too much a tease.

McCree grabs Hanzo's shoulder with his prosthetic hand, twists the two of them around. Hanzo grunts when his back hits the wall, eyes wide, mouth open. A wet little sound; broken, pained little noise. His hand hasn't stopped moving on McCree's cock though, dragging up it roughly. Too dry.

McCree cages him in against the wall with his body. Envelops him. Breathes into his hair, panting. Hanzo kisses the side of McCree's maw again, gentle, fluttering touches.

Delicate.

Breakable.

Delicious.

McCree closes his eyes, rolls his hips. The suppressants have the thoughts ignorable, but they're still there, circling around the back of his brain.

"I want you to look at me," Hanzo says. His second hand has joined the first, rubbing the heel of his palm against the thick head of McCree's cock to spread the precome better. Fingertips pressing against the slit, messy and slipping. "I want you to see everything I do to you."

McCree doesn't have time to wonder how Hanzo still sounds so in control. How Hanzo isn't shaking beneath him. All he has time to do is marvel as Hanzo drops to his knees. Nuzzles his face against McCree's thigh, sighing into the fur.

McCree drops his human hand to Hanzo's hair, fingers scrabbling against Hanzo's scalp, but Hanzo brushes him off.

"This will be at my pace," Hanzo says, lifting his chin. Nosing close enough that McCree's dick bushes his cheek. "So no touching."

McCree nods, desperate. The wolf balks at such a request. The litany of take and feast and break and fuck still spins uselessly in the back of his head. But he can do as Hanzo asks.

"Do you knot like this?" Hanzo asks.

"Yes."

Hanzo makes a sound. Inhuman, liquid shudder. Breath hot and moist on McCree's cock. "You will warn me then, before you come. I am not looking to come that close to suffocating. Not tonight at least."

Suffocate, there's a dangerous thought. McCree shivers, braces his forearms on the wall behind Hanzo's head.

"Got it," he says. He taps Hanzo on the brow, sharply, twice with his metal fingers. "Like this."

"It will do." Hanzo breathes again, eyelids fluttering. His lashes are dark and long against his cheeks. McCree shuffles his feet, hips shifting. Leaving a trail of precome dashed across Hanzo's nose.

He whines when Hanzo's lips touch him, moist and soft against the skin of his shaft. Dragging down to the head. Light suction, almost maddening.

McCree doesn't really remember the last time he was touched like this, in this form. Is rightly sure it wasn't ever truly like this before. Never with a human and other werewolves so rarely indulge in oral.

Fangs get in the way.

McCree groans again, lips pulling away from said fangs. Saliva dripping from his mouth. Lost to the feeling of Hanzo's tongue pushing at the underside of his cockhead. Another sharper pull of suction.

A reminder.

McCree forces his eyes open. Lupine jaw against his chest.

Hanzo's fingers dig against the flexing muscles of McCree's thighs as he leans further forward. Lips stretched obscene around McCree's cock.

"Fuck," McCree huffs, voice a snarl, tangling over his tongue.

Prince Hanzo has never looked so good, McCree is sure. Almost at home on his knees; not shy of eye contact, eager for it. Bobbing his head slightly when McCree meets his gaze. The distended pull of Hanzo's cheeks when he moves his head, bulging.

McCree whines and keens. His claws have raked furrows in the wall. Probably for the best, the fact that Hanzo won't let him touch. Safer for the both of them.

Not that Hanzo seems particularly worried about safe. He's halfway down McCree's cock when the head bumps too hard against his soft palette. McCree groans and snarls at the feeling, Hanzo's throat fluttering around him. But he doesn't move.

And Hanzo doesn't pull off.

Just sucks a ragged sounding breath through his nose, lips slurping against the skin of McCree's cock. Warm drool, sliding down the length of it.

Fucking obscene.

There's no further to go, unless Hanzo takes McCree into his throat fully. The soft walls contract around him. The heat is driving him crazy. His claws dig harder against the wall. One has broken. Blood under the nail.

"Hanzo," he says, drawing, groaning. "You're killing me."

Hanzo's eyes are tight. Watery. Tears tracking freely down his cheek, into his beard. He wipes at them, distractedly.

He's half-way down McCree's cock and there's no more room to go.

Hanzo tries anyway. His hands raise shaky from McCree's thighs to guide the base of his cock further down the tunnel of his throat. One hand presses, hectic, just above the swell of his own Adam's apple. His fingertips are sweaty against McCree's skin.

McCree is hyperaware of every shift. Every touch. Every chocked and ragged sound.

The base of his cock is swelling, he can feel it. Hanzo's must feel it. Firming up further, still a scant distance from Hanzo's mouth. Hanzo is watching him. His eyes bore against McCree's.

And McCree can no longer hold on.

He taps his metal fingers against Hanzo's forehead, his eyes fluttering shut. His body, edging that pinnacle. Hanzo shudders as he comes off. Spots of color on his cheek, wild red roses. He is gasping, lightly, still trying to sound so in control.

It's the breathing that gets him, pushes McCree down and over. His orgasm crashes through him, always more intense when in this form, even worse this time. His muscles seize and shift, hips pumping in the empty air. Elbow catching himself as he collapses gracelessly against the wall; only just sparing Hanzo the brunt of his weight.

Lining him up perfectly for the come shot however. Ropes of it, down his cheeks, in his hair, his beard, thick and milky. Pungent. McCree can smell the salt slick of it.

Hanzo's hands around the tender, swollen base. Pressing lightly, coaxing the last of it from him. The knot, firm and aching, does not recede or deflate.

The prince does nothing to clean himself off. He leans forward instead, mouthing the swell, gentle, sticky, reverent.

"Hanzo," McCree rumbles. His body wants to go boneless, get horizontal. The warmth of Hanzo's hands around his knot is enough to simulate connection. The wolf has been sated; the next need is sleep. "Hanzo."

Hanzo glances up at him. Glassy eyed still. He looks wrecked.

"'M gonna fall," McCree warns. "Bed."

Hanzo slips out from beneath him. Wipes his face with the fluttering sleeve of his robe. The slick and spit and damning evidence. He moves with grace, despite the obvious bulge in the fabric of his light sleeping pants.

McCree curls on his side, cock flexing slightly, bobbing and knotted with nothing to hold it. He doesn't know what to say.

Neither does Hanzo apparently. He stares down at McCree with an uncharacteristically timid sort of silence. His hair halos around his head, freed from its usual tie, choppy and short and dark.

"Thank you," he says, finally.

"Hanzo," McCree starts, reaching out with his metal hand. It will be too cold, but his claws were made to cut and rend and his maw is too full of jagged teeth. "Can I help?"

Hanzo shakes his head. "You have done enough." His voice trips over the words, tight and stilted from between his lips. McCree can imagine how raw his throat must feel. Sore and abused from the press of McCree's dick.

"I don't wanna hear that," McCree says. "You made me show, let me see it."

"I cannot."

"You mean you won't," the wolf, even suppressed recognizes the difference and rises against it. Even sleepy and warm from his orgasm, McCree finds it in him to be annoyed by this.

Hanzo shakes his head. He touches McCree's wrist, his snout. "I cannot."

The full moon bleeds against McCree's skin. Hanzo's dragon tattoo is glowing, blue separate light.

"I have to go," Hanzo says. He sounds mournful. "Sleep, beast. I will see you in the morning."

McCree wants to protest, to fight. But his body is exhausted and he can't.

The last thing he sees before sleep overtakes him is the shimmer of Hanzo's skin, the back of Hanzo's shoulder as he retreats from the room.


End file.
